PREVENTING SPOUSAL ABUSE; HONORING THOSE WHO HELP

Nat_aliza_officeSometimes a common event can remind you of the wonderful ways that others find to live their lives and help others.  Tonight we went to a benefit for a group that helps Jewish women trapped in abusive relationships; it’s call the Jewish Coalition Against Domestic Abuse.  We went because a good friend chairs the group, but also because they were honoring a remarkable pair of lawyers: Nathaniel "Nat" Lewin  and his daughter Alyza Lewin .  Together they are the law firm of Lewin & Lewin LLP . This article in Jewish Week Magazine describes them beautifully.

Nat_aliza_two_shot2
Nat has an impressive history; it was kind of thrilling to see him honored and hear him speak so beautifully and lovingly of his lawyer daughter, his photographer daughter, his wife and grandkids, then to hear Alyza thank her parents, her husband, her sister, her kids and her nanny, all of whom were there. 

She described her memory of having "the talk" with her mom early in her adolescence — not "the talk" talk – but one at least as important.  Her mother, she said, told her to be economically self-sufficient, AND to never let her work keep her from getting married and having children, Then, she continued, half joking, her mother said "These two things, they conflict.  So now maybe it will be easier because I told you."  Everyone laughed, mostly with recognition.  We all know that clash and live with it.   

Most moms have a connection with their kids, begun physically of course, before birth that continues in a way that makes leaving them to go to work tough.  We were probably hard-wired that way.  When I saw this mother of four describing her mother’s warning and her subsequent efforts to be mother and powerhouse attorney, I thought about so many women — those law school pioneers terrorized in class and shut out of study groups, med students thrown out of operating rooms because they were too germy to be there without pantyhose (true story), women reporters shut out of the Radio TV Correspondent’s dinner unless they came as "hostesses."  We’ve all come a long way, and clearly Alyza Lewin, through her work, with her dad, on Jewish issues, is using the progress we made to help others.  As Jewish Week wrote:  "That’s meant
everything from representing apartment tenants whose landlords won’t
allow them to hang a mezuzah, to assisting government employees having
trouble getting their security clearances renewed because of family
ties to Israel, to helping rabbis ensure menorot can be displayed on
public property during Chanukah." 

She comes by it naturally.  Her dad, when he spoke, didn’t say much about his track record as an attorney – he didn’t need to.  Again, the profile;

Combining his time as an assistant to the
solicitor general and private practice, he’s argued 27 cases in front of the
Supreme Court. And his daughter notes that there is no legal issue relating to
the Jewish community that doesn’t have his "fingerprints" on it. ..
he drafted the provision of the Civil Rights Act that protects one’s religious
observance or practice. Later in the decade, he wrote legislation that allowed
federal workers to work "compensatory time" if they wanted to get
time off to observe religious holidays. … Lewin is still trying to create further protection for religious liberty.  The firm has taken up the case, on appeal,  of a Jewish parole officer in New York whose employer pressured him not to observe religious holidays by scheduling
mandatory meetings and training sessions on those dates. They are arguing that
the plaintiff faced a "hostile work environment"
similar to the kind of environment considered actionable for sexual harassment and
that the courts should recognize such a standard for religious practice.

Before forming Lewin and Lewin, Nathan Lewin was
a founding partner at Miller, Cassidy, Larocca & Lewin. Among his most
well-known clients was Ed Meese, when the Reagan administration attorney
general was the subject of an independent counsel investigation over charges of
influence peddling. …

U.S.dLewin also was actress Jodie Foster’s lawyer
when she testified during the trial of John Hinckley for the shooting of
President Ronald Reagan. In 1975, Lewin represented John Lennon on an appeal of
a US   decision to deport
him because of his previous conviction on drug possession charges in Great Britain.
Lewin said he never met the Beatle, having been recruited to handle the appeal
through Lennon’s lawyer. And he joked that he probably shouldn’t have cashed
the check Lennon sent him to pay for his services because the
autograph on it probably ended up being more valuable.

The Lewins currently …are working on a number of
other Jewish-related cases, such as the Boim case, in which, on behalf of a
victim of a Hamas terrorist attack in Israel, they successfully sued the Holy Land Foundation and two other U.S. charities for providing funding to the terrorist organization.  They are waiting for the results of an appeal but the legal theory they devleloped has been adopted by a number of other terror victims since.

So.  They deserved the honor.  The issue is horrifying – the "Jews don’t do that sort of thing" myth decimated – like the lives of so many of the women JACADA works to help.  The biggest reward for me though was to listen to this accomplished, unassuming and loving daughter tell her story and speak with such colleagial regard for her father.  It’s how things should be.  And so seldom are.
 

 

WAY BEFORE HER TIME- IN A HAT! REMEMBERING BELLA ABZUG

Bella_life_mag_3
She was way before her time — way before.  Loud, brash, confident, and always in a hat (even on the House floor), born in 1920 and elected to Congress in 1970, Bella Abzug was a force of nature who, early in her career, ignored serious threats on her life to defend Willie McGee, a Mississippi black man convicted of raping a white woman.  Although very pregnant at the time, she went to Mississippi to argue his case and face the cruel segregation machine that was the Jim Crow South.

Later, she represented many of those attacked by Senator Joe McCarthy in the 50’s and became one of the leaders of the anti-Vietnam War movement – and an enduring symbol of the struggle to gain the kinds of rights women enjoy today.  There was so much to her – and most of it was apparent in the force of her presence, and her impact on others.

Bella_book_cover_Now two of her long-time colleagues, admirers, friends and founding editors at Ms. Magazine have compiled an exciting and inspiring oral history.

To many of those who read this blog Bella is a seeming anachronism.  There’s no way to recall the desperation of those times not only because of the war but also because of the growing frustration of women trying to find an equal place in the world.  Bella broke down barriers, put the fear of God into politicians (and her staff and many of her admirers) with her fierce commitment and energy, and was a funny, loving person between battles – and this book brings all that to life.

So take a look at this engrossing story.  If you have a young woman friend who doesn’t know what came before there was an all-girl sweep of high school science awards (much less any girls competing at all), or women running the New York Times, or women so commonly in authority that their roles on TV are not “first” or “woman fill-in-the-blank” but simply jobs — chief residents like Miranda Bailey or hospital directors like Lisa Cuddy or even really bad bad guys like Angela Petrelli  share it with her this holiday – or for her birthday – or when she graduates.  And remind her of this:

When you get your meds from a woman pharmacist or get a ticket from a woman cop or have your plane waved to the gate by a woman airport worker — remember that they, and we, stand on the shoulders of this remarkable woman.  Take a look at her story (the book is called – Bella Abzug: How One Tough Broad from the Bronx Fought
Jim Crow and Joe McCarthy, Pissed Off Jimmy Carter, Battled for the
Rights of Women and Workers, … Planet, and Shook Up Politics Along
the Way
— then decide what you’re going to do to take us to the next landmark.

LAST OF THE LEAVES, LAST OF NABLOPOMO, HARRY CHAPIN AND LIFE

Autumn_2007I can see this out my office window.  In a couple of months it will be silvery with snow.  Months after that, long after these last end-of-autumn  leaves have fallen, new ones will bud in their place, and there will be a riot of color once again  — this time with blossoms.

I titled a post a few months ago "ALL MY LIFE’S A CIRCLE, SUNRISE TO SUNDOWN" as I wrote about a beautiful Bar Mitzvah.  For some reason, I’m feeling that way today.  Listen to Harry Chapin’s wonderful words:
All my life’s a circle
Sunrise and sundown
Moon rolls through the night time
Till daybreak comes around
All my life’s a circle
Still I wonder why
Season spinning ’round again
Years keep rolling by.

Seems like I’ve been here before
Can’t remember when
I got this funny feeling
We’ll all be together again
No straight lines make up my life
All my roads have bends
No clear cut beginnings
So far no dead ends.
CHORUS
I’ve met you a thousand times
I guess you’ve done the same
Then we lose each other
It’s like a children’s game
But now I find you here again
The thought comes to my mind
Our love is like a circle
Let’s go ’round one more time.

All my life’s a circle
Sunrise and sundown
Moon rolls through the night time
Till daybreak comes around
All my life’s a circle
Still I wonder why
Season spinning ’round again
Years keep rolling by.

Beautiful, no?  Tomorrow it will be December – NABLOPOMO will be over for another year and the year itself as fast approaching its final days.  We’ve been through health scares and crises, major adventures and small pleasures, moving and rewarding family time and some times not so great.  So I guess that’s why I’m kind of weepy, having loved the release of daily writing and aware of how fragile is life — and love — and laughter, ready to "go ’round one more time."

Here’s the song:


Have a good weekend.

HEY MACY’S – ON THIS THANKSGIVING, THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES

Cllifford_2When our kids were little we used to take them, in the freezing Manhattan November, to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. For the twenty years we lived in New York, from Josh in a carrier on Rick’s back, to Josh on his shoulders and Dan in a Snugli, to the two boys worming their way past the grown-ups to stand in the front of the crowd at 75th and Broadway, to the years we went to our friends’ house overlooking Central Park West on Thanksgiving eve and watched them blow up the balloons — all the years of Columbus Avenue cocoa and popcorn, we were there. When they got older, the boys went together without us; the two of them joining the crowds (the TODAY SHOW just told me that this year there are 3.5 million people along the parade route) with the finesse of New York kids. I cherish those memories; I know they liked it but I don’t think as much as I loved watching them respond to the balloons and the music and the colors and the crowds.

If I weren’t in San Francisco without all our albums I’d scan a photo of the kids waving from the top of a newspaper vending machine, or on their dad’s shoulders, or looking up at the balloons with such magical wonder that I can’t describe it. But we’re here and no such photos inhabit my laptop, so I leave it to your imagination.

We left Manhattan for LA in 1992 and I haven’t been to a Thanksgiving parade since. I don’t even recognize all the balloons. Central Park West belongs to other parents and kids now; nobody who’s only seen it on TV can imagine the excitement, the smells, the noise, the freeeeezing cold and thrill of watching their kids wave to Big Bird and Bob IN PERSON!!!! I’ll always have a deep affection for Macy’s and the gift of that annual celebration of family, joy and, yes, thanks. Nobody can give a gift better than the gift of memories and they certainly have done that. Every single year.

BEST FRIENDS FOREVER

CindyandjanesmallThere we are** – Jane and me on her porch one summer during college.  Friends since Brownies, we’ve always had a warm, respectful and sturdy relationship, interrupted by years at a time but never diminished.  Recently she sent photos of a family reunion – her four kids and their spouses and all their kids. And some things she had written.  Beautiful things. Especially about her parents.  I knew them well; I spent so many Saturday nights at their house, even going to church with them in the morning.  They never ate breakfast before Communion but Jane’s mom always insisted that I eat something even though I was going with them  After all, I wasn’t taking Communion so why not?.

Cindy_and_jane_yearbook
A "nice Jewish girl" in a milltown suburb (here I"m on the right and Jane on the left, I had no Jewish friends; Jane, Catholic, was my dearest.  What might have been a huge cultural gap was just a curiousity; differences in our lives but not in how we felt about one another.  We’d always sworn to be at one another’s weddings; I’ll never forget her beautiful one in the cathedral at Notre Dame.  Years later, when it was my turn, Jane was living in Dallas and already a mother; she just couldn’t make it.
Then, just days before our wedding, she called.  "Do you still have room on that boat of yours?" (We got married on a boat.)  "I have to keep our promise- I’m coming!"  It was so great and meant so much.  Just as she knew it would.
That was 36 years ago; almost twice the age we were when the top photo was taken.  But it doesn’t matter.  The blessing of shared memories — of remembering each other’s parents and the Girl Scout trip to New York and her first love, who died in Vietnam — and mine, who ran off, perpetually stoned, to Santa Barbara —  those memories make her part of so much of who I was and who I’ve become.  What a gift to me that the one whose friendship blessed me was so blessed herself – generous and fine — helping me to be what she knew I had to be when I wasn’t sure myself what that was…not at all.

***NOTE: In order to observe the Sabbath, this post was written in late October and set to post on Saturday morning November 17th.

JERUSALEM DIARY 2.0 DAY EIGHT: WEDDING SONGS, ARTISTS, MUSIC AND MEMORIES — THE BEST ARE THE THINGS YOU WEREN’T LOOKING FOR

Kol_nishmaYou know it’s true: we never know the best things are coming until they’re there. I can read this! It’s Kol Nishma, a song I really wanted to learn. I’ve twice heard it sung as a groom makes his way to his bride surrounded by friends — all singing (hollering) with energy and joy. A friend found the title for me, our Hebrew teacher typed out the lyrics in nice, big, first-grader font – and I can read it – even sing it in the limited tune-carrying that passes for me singing. Wasn’t expecting that one…

Malla_croppedLater we visited the studio of a designer whose work we thought we might like. He shares his gallery with his 80 year old mother, whose extraordinary art hangs over tables where his is displayed. It’s quite a scene. That artist, Malla Carl, whose work was enchanting, grew up in Switzerland after her family fled the Nazis and landed in Lucerne.

Her father, she told us, had been a Chasidic rabbi. Even so, he gave her permission to go to art school – quite revolutionary at the time for an Orthodox Jewish girl. When I asked how this was possible in such a traditional environment, she explained, a bit tongue-in-cheek, that the chief Rabbi of Lucerne had come “from Berlin” – dramatic pause – and been influenced by Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch. The father of Modern Orthodoxy, Hirsch apparently believed even then that women should be educated and gladly gave his permission for her to continue her studies.

I wish I could describe the animation, the humor and charm, the sheer joy of our time with this spectacular woman. She told us great stories; some, involving others, I’m not able to relay. Suffice it to say she’s a pistol. She took us through folders of her work – not as customers but fascinated visitors – and her content and execution are memorable and evocative. They are not the work of an “old” person but of one always alive and aware.

We just went on and on — asking questions and receiving remarkable responses. Somehow our conversation moved to facts surrounding our move toward Orthodox Judaism. She was pretty shocked. As we prepared to leave, our newly purchased print rolled up safely in a tube, the story of our gradual move from no affiliation to such a commanding observance fascinated her. Finally, we left. From the top of the stairs, after giving us farewell greetings (a kiss for Rick, a motherly caress for me because I have a cold and she couldn’t hug me) Mrs. Carl continued our conversation. Upon learning, from one flight down, that Rick and I have a Kosher home, she saluted! I don’t know if I have the skills to describe it: A small, grey haired woman in glasses, standing in the dim light of the stair well, saluting us for embarking on this stage of life with such a radically different reality. The whole scene represents an idea dear to Baby Boomers like me — and the basis for the title of this blog. Whatever you do, DON’T stand still. Grow and change and explore and wonder and respond. Not so dramatic; just be alive while you’re living. The drama was reserved for a tiny woman, learning of our journey of discovery — (sometimes so so hard) — and saluting. It took about a block to be able to speak; both of us were enormously moved. Honored, too, not only by her gesture, but by the opportunity, however brief, to share the reality of such a gigantic life. They say Jerusalem is full of history – and it isn’t all built into the stones and walls. Every person leaving the old country and coming here to build a new life — every one of them is a figure of history. Today we met one of the best. You’d know it, too, if you’d been with us, seeing her grand salute from the shadows at the top of the stairs. I never expected that, either.

HOW OLD ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU CALLING A ELDER?

Elderly_ladyWe live in a community where many of our closest friends are well under 40 – several the ages of our sons.  Because we are culturally united, age isn’t such a big deal, which is strange.  I’ve always identified very strongly as a Baby Boomer.  Born in the first year of the cohort, I cherish the experiences and adventures and acknowledge the shared rages and disappointments that bind us.  Even so, I’m struggling with my place. 

There’s a group of bloggers led by Ronni Bennett, a wonderful writer and observer, through her blog Time Goes By – and she’s working to build a community she terms "Elder Bloggers."

I hate it.  Hate it.  I admire Ronni; I’ve always been OK with where I stand in age and presence but this is tough.  I can’t decide if I’m being immature and clinging to a world I don’t belong in or I just don’t have the same sensibility.  I moved online in the early 90s, I read science fiction and love Harry Potter; I listen to all kinds of music; I cherish every experience.  When my kids were little I often felt I had more in common with their teenage babysitters than with the parents of many of their friends.

It’s not that I deny my age — or my friends who are peers.  Or my responsibilities.  I’ve had a successful career raised great, honorable and capable kids.  It’s that I cherish the energy, openness and curiosity of those whose lives are more ahead of them than behind.  I remember maybe 20 years ago when a friend of mine was about to take her youngest son to college. Eyes welling up, she said something over lunch that day that still haunts me.  "It used to be that everything in my life was about beginnings, now it seems that most of it is about endings."  It was a devastating moment.  I swore I would never feel like that.

It’s no battle really.  It’s my nature to be curious — I have a short attention span and, as my blog header says, "There’s always more."  Remaining open is easy.  Realizing that it’s sometimes time to surrender some options is harder — even, or maybe especially, stupid ones like clothes.  I have a "style."  It took years to develop – not on purpose just by trial and error.  Often, I was in the fashion moment.  I went through the 80s in leggings and tunics and arm-loads of black rubber bracelets.  Oh and Reebok high-tops and thick saggy socks.  And that was at work!

One day though, you begin looking at those cool of-the-moment clothes with the thought "I wish I were young enough to wear those" instead of "wow how much is that one?"  It’s never said out loud (or at least not by anyone you’d listen to) – you just kind of know it.   A friend of mine with daughters says it happens to moms with girls much earlier because, as she put it "you don’t want to look like you’re competing.")  I, however, resisted as long as I could, then surrendered (except for jewelry and shoes, of course.)

Music too.  I was in the loop until hip hop, then got shoved pretty far into the margins.  My kids send me music now – from Great Big Sea to Jack Johnson to Green Day and I’m grateful. But these days I don’t even know who many of the Top Ten folks are  — and don’t care. 

That doesn’t make me an elder though.  Or a grown-up.  Just a responsible adult, defined by nature and interests, not age.  So Ronni – I’m with you with great admiration as you bring all of us together and continue to build the world’s coolest Boomer+ blogroll.  But the title — the title —  not for me my girl.  At least……..not yet.

Magic – Bruce Tells the Truth – Where’s the Rest of It?

MagicLife is complicated.  One day things are great; the next day someone you love breaks an ankle and faces weeks on crutches; another battles heartbreak and  demons. One day you’re lifted high in celebration; the next, angry and resentful.  One day you’re lost in silence – the next you’re listening to Bruce Springsteen warn you to "carry only what you fear" then enchant you with a wistful "Girls in Their Summer Clothes."   

I would have bought Magic sooner or later — if it has Bruce’s name on it, it’s on my iPod.  But my son’s endorsement sent me straight to Amazon right after its  release.  When The Seeger Sessions came out I played it for hours – over and over.  It just lifted you up out of your chair (or the driver’s seat.)  Magic needs more attention; it’s got a lot to say.  No courting froggies or underpaid sailors here.  What there is instead is a mournful, painful set of stories: political and personal.  They describe feelings I’ve struggled to express: anger, disappointment, anxiety over the future. 

Not much more to say except that I once saw Springsteen tell Bob Dylan "You were the brother that I never had."  He is the diary I never had.   In Bruce’s real-life anthems, you can find huge parts of my life. I was a lawyer’s daughter in a steel town.  The football heroes and Dairy Queen cowboys of my teen years were the boys of Springsteen’s New Jersey.  All so familiar: the longings of Thunder Road, the nostalgia of No Surrender

Every time I hear the lines "Now I’m ready to grow young again, And hear your sister’s voice calling us home, Across the open yards" I can see it.  The yard outside our house, the hill up to the neighbors and their tire swing, dusk in the summer when my sister really did call and we tore down the hill, sweaty, dirty and happy as hell. 

I don’t want to feel just as connected to these angry, disappointed words, but I do. It’s not just aging, knowing that childhood summers are long gone.  It’s the reality of the times he’s describing – so much the way I’ve experienced them without the capacity to express what I feel.  Not the only thing I feel — but as usual he’s speaking for a part of me.  This time though, instead of being grateful, I’m just so so sad.

REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST – TOM JONES AND SO MUCH MORE

Tom_jones_2Not to be too obscure here but think about this: Marcel Proust’s REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST was inspired by the scent of one cookie (a fancy one called a Madeline.) Sense memory is a powerful thing.

I saw Tom Jones 44 years ago, with my high school “film club.” The club was just 6 seniors and our creative writing teacher. Our mill town high school wasn’t a culture haven but this young teacher was. He handwrote Irwin Shaw short stories onto “ditto sheets” because there was no budget for the books, started a literary magazine (I was the editor, naturally) took us to Shakespeare performances and — started the film club. At first we rented films (screened on a projector in his classroom) and then moved on to evening journeys “downtown” to local art houses. We saw LA STRADA and THE SEVENTH SEAL, SUNDAYS AND CYBELE and SHOOT THE PIANO PLAYER — and TOM JONES. The films were so intelligent, so clearly different from the “movies” we saw on our own; the theaters served espresso and everyone was smoking. How sophisticated we felt!

This morning as I watched this nearly half-century old film – still funny and charming even though the playful sexual innuendo recalls a more tender time, that 18-year-old girl I’d been came back – all of her. I didn’t know whether to be sad — miss all that I was then – all that’s changed — lost — or just plain passed – or to be grateful for the remarkable kaleidoscope of experiences that my life has been. From the adventure of a 36 year old marriage to the joy of raising two of the most spectacular young men on the planet to presences at royal weddings and presidential inaugurations, travel all over the world and great music experiences to a gentle childhood with talents acknowledged and appreciated to memorable private moments at weddings, bar mitzvahs, graduations and other celebrations with family and friends, a lot has contributed to the wiser woman I am today. I know there’s no way to live the life I’ve lived – or any other – without losing some of the shiny stuff of youth but even so it’s a shock when awareness of those losses lands on you in the middle of an unambiguously optimistic movie 44 years old.

Here’s what I think: there isn’t a person on the planet (despite Edith Piaf) who has no regrets. Recalling days that seem idyllic is a privilege – many haven’t got many to recall. Sadness about the joys of the past emerges only from an accumulated reservoir of happiness that is a blessing in itself. As Auntie Mame used to say “Life is a banquet, and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death.” My sisters and I swore we would live by that.

I’ve tried – and I’m still trying. That’s why this blog is called Don’t Gel Too Soon. Wherever that 18 year old film fiend has gone, parts of her are still part of me – informing and enlivening the person I’ve become. The real challenge in this portion of my life is to hang onto the enthusiasm and curiosity of those years – never freezing in place. The last line in Tom Jones, one of my favorite anywhere, was written by John Dryden – way before movies or even radio. It still works though, and I offer its wisdom for us all. “Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.”

A NEW YEAR, A 36th WEDDING ANNIVERSARY, A LOT TO THINK ABOUT

Wedding_familyTonight begins Rosh Hashanah – the New Year celebration that launches the holy season of the Days of Awe that continues until Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement.  It’s also a huge day for me – in more than one way.  Rick and I were married 36 years ago today.  On a boat on the Monongahela River.   We’ve been through a lot – maybe more than most couples – but we’ve hung on and we’re reaping the rewards of a shared history.  So to have this remarkable landmark fall on the eve of a holy day of renewal is really something.

This is another anniversary, too.  Our third living an observant life.  We first came here for Rosh Hashanah services 4 years ago, met our remarkable rabbi and began the journey that has led us to a new, moving, inspiring, frustrating, challenging, occasionally painful, sometimes completely uplifting life.  We share new feelings, new friends, new aspirations to goodness and a sense of God, new challenges and inspirations.  AND we’re still sharing them with each other.  That too is remarkable.

Now as we move toward observance of these days, toward prayers and meals and friends and — especially joyful – a visit from one of our sons and his girl friend, I am both grateful and anxious.  We are supposed to think about debts and obligations, sins and redemption.  I still carry a painful family resentment – toward someone I love but who has hurt me deeply and , I suspect, believes that I hurt her.  I need to deal with this but am still struggling to figure out how.  But I know I will – that I must.  That’s the other gift of this season – a confrontation with the personal flaws that impede our prayers and our happiness.  My dear one, if you read this, know how much I love you and that we will find our way past this – I promise.

To those who have offered us so much guidance and support, with whom we’ve had such fun and such meaningful prayers (and meals – and visits) I wish you the gift of as much goodness as you’ve brought us – an enormous deluge of joy.  To our dear rabbi and his family a special thanks for being our gateway to this new life and all that it has meant. 

Rick_cindy
And to Rick, my partner, love and best friend, eternal gratitude to you for your courage and determination, love and generosity, talents and humor and incredible incredible soul.  Happy anniversary.  Thanks for the memories, the adventures, our amazing children,  and this astonishing, still emerging journey.  L’shana tova.